By Osmosis
by crazy4vicodin
Summary: Even as a young med student, Gregory House exudes confidence. Innocent as always, James Wilson is drawn to him like a moth to the flame. [AU!] A HouseWilson college!fic. Mostly preslash.
1. Chapter 1

Title: By Osmosis

Fandom: House, M.D.

Pairing: House/Wilson

Warnings: eventual homosexual themes

Disclaimer: House, MD is owned by David Shore.

A/N: This is definite AU. To make this story make sense, I have to say that Wilson went to college with House at Johns-Hopkins, not at McGill where he actually went. (AU is oh-so-fun.) So, this is about how House and Wilson meet at college…

Chapter One

Wilson tossed his keys into one of the side pockets on his backpack and walked into the building. He was early for his Pharmacology lecture, but instead of hanging around he'd go in early. If all else failed, he could always talk to Professor Falley until the others arrived.

Professor F, as he liked to be called, was a man of middle height, rotund and jolly-faced. He resembled a sort of bald, shiny elf minus the green hat and pointy shoes. Though always quick to make a joke in class, Falley did take his job as a teacher seriously and concentrated on teaching his students instead of merely letting them slide. You could learn a lot of things from him if you paid attention to the lectures. His temper was rather explosive when provoked but didn't show itself often.

Wilson climbed the steps until he reached a row of seats towards the middle and sat down in the outermost chair. He was conscientious about his schoolwork—a bit of a nerd, you could say. In the entire history of his two years at Johns-Hopkins, James Wilson hadn't been to one Friday-night party, hadn't skipped class, hadn't been late, and hadn't had any detentions. His grades had never dropped below the occasional high B and were usually all A's.

Wilson took out his planner and began jotting down the next week's homework from the freestanding whiteboard. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the door swing open again to admit more people. Clusters of laughing girls spread slowly to their seats. They were followed by groups of jocks wearing college sports team jackets and clapping each other on the back.

And after them…he came. A few feet behind like every other day, last but not walking with the last-on-line attitude at all.

Wilson didn't know the boy's name, only that he was older than himself. This was the only class Wilson shared with him. He was different from the others. Intriguing. No one ever walked in with him. In the six months of the year that had already flown by, Wilson had never once seen him talk to someone, but it didn't seem to faze him. Completely opposite—from Wilson's observations, the loneliness seemed to be self-initiated. The boy carried himself with natural ease. He was tall, dauntingly tall, or maybe it was just that he was lanky and it made him appear taller. Long-limbed, he carried himself with a sort of natural grace that emanated unpretentious confidence, something calm, something composed and studious and bordering on noble. He usually wore what you would call casual trendy, which fit him in some abstract way. The whole black-silk-shirt-jeans-cologne thing was a part of his personality, Wilson thought.

Not that Wilson knew what he was like. Or assumed the right to judge what fit him and what didn't—these things just came to mind. Wilson didn't know him at all. Had never spoken to him. Didn't even know his _name_, because he never spoke in class. They sat on opposite sides of the room from each other, and Wilson spent the class periods silently observing. He was attractive, Wilson would give him that. Dark-light brown, slightly wavy hair. Their eyes hadn't met yet, so Wilson didn't know what color they were, but he'd seen the way the boy focused them on his work. His entire demeanor radiated intensity. And then of course he had fashion sense. The clothes he wore always looked specifically tailored and brought out that same catlike grace. But it wasn't even that which drew Wilson to watch him—it was the intelligence he radiated. That confidence. It could fill a whole room, and there was something intoxicating about its power.

And Wilson wasn't gay. In any case, he never had been, before this. If watching and observing made him gay, that is. This wasn't really even anything, was it? Just observation. Respect from afar. Silent admiration? That didn't change the fact that he was attracted to girls. Or at least, Wilson didn't think it did.

The boy sauntered into the room slowly, completely unruffled by the fact that he was about 30 seconds from being marked late. He never came in late. Maybe pushing it, but never late. It was another thing that Wilson respected about him from afar—punctuality. He slid into his seat and rolled up the sleeves of his navy blue dress shirt (untucked. It was like Florida chic in New Jersey.) Folding his arms, tucking his thumbs neatly into his elbows, he looked up intently at the board and waited for class to begin.

The bell rang. Forty minutes later, it rang again, and Wilson packed up his things but didn't leave. He watched senior-stranger get up and walk out just as languorously as he had entered, carrying a stack of books in his arms and a denim backpack over one shoulder. And Wilson told himself to forget about him, passing a hand over his eyes tiredly. _Come on, this is pathetic. I don't even know him. And I'm not...whatever. _After everyone had gone, Wilson sighed as he saw Falley's inquisitive look in his direction. Hastily, he gathered up his things and began the descent down the rows.

"Everything all right, James?" Falley asked as he passed by. "You seem flustered."

"Oh," Wilson stammered. "No, I'm fine. Thanks, sir."

Falley laughed and shook his head, watching his student stumble out the door. _Boys_, he thought to himself. _I can't believe I was ever that awkward._


	2. Chapter 2

Title: By Osmosis  
Fandom: House, M.D.  
Pairing: House/Wilson  
Warnings: eventual homosexual themes  
Disclaimer: House, MD is owned by David Shore.

Chapter Two

Wilson glanced around the library uncertainly. This was like looking around for a needle in a haystack. It was ridiculous that he was even trying to find this guy he barely knew. Odds were he'd want nothing to do with Wilson. Greg could be here, Greg could _not _be here—wait. There he was. Greg was seated at a table, close to the reference section, far away from the librarian's desk. Wilson shifted the textbooks in his arms and took a moment to take him in. Beige short-sleeve shirt, tight-fitting jeans.

Greg appeared to be engrossed in a small green paperback whose title Wilson couldn't read clearly from that distance. Even though there was a clear-cut purpose in his mind, Wilson still found the task ahead of him quite daunting. He wasn't usually this painfully shy. Really.

"Excuse me," Wilson interrupted, walking up to Greg's table and setting one hand on the back of a vacant chair opposite Greg. He tried to make it look casual, even though the edge of a notebook was poking him in the side and a heavy textbook threatened to topple out of his arms at any moment. He wanted to flee. "You're…Greg?"

"House. I go by House." His mouth twitched into something that was more of a sardonic smirk than a smile, but he didn't look up yet. An awkward silence grew around them. House continued to peruse his novel for a few more seconds. "You come over here just to watch me read?" The tone was slightly defensive, the type of tone you would use when asking someone, 'Whatcha looking at?' He dog-eared a page, closed the book and put it down on the table. Lacing his fingers behind his head, Greg stretched languorously for several seconds before finally fixing Wilson with his intent stare.

Wilson frowned slightly. "Um, I'm—I'm James Wilson, from your--"

"I know who you are. James Wilson from Falley's Pharmacology," House cut in. Wilson's eyebrows shot up. At Wilson's obvious discomfort, House's stern expression softened slightly and he drummed his fingers against his knee. "Sit down already, before you drop those on your foot or something," he added impatiently with a roll of his eyes. It made Wilson feel immediately more at ease, though he still couldn't quite figure out exactly what to do now that he was here.

Leaning over to nudge the precarious pile of tomes into another free chair, Wilson took a seat and stammered his thanks. "How do you know who I am? We've never talked or anything."

"Please. You've stared me down so much already in that class, we may as well have bypassed the talking completely and skipped to the sex." House laughed at Wilson's scandalized expression. "Relax, Jimmy. I'm kidding."

Gregory House was already becoming more of a mystery to Wilson than he had been before when they'd never met. Here he was, sitting in the library with someone he barely knew, a guy no less, and talking about…about what? Oh, right. Sex? But House had shifted in his chair a few times, crossed his arms over his chest, propped up his feet on the table, and was watching him calmly as if waiting for something. Considering the silence, he was probably waiting on an explanation of Wilson's presence. They didn't know each other, after all, and it would only work for so many minutes for him to just say he'd wanted to make friends.

"James. I go by James," Wilson mimicked House smugly, and they laughed together at the joke. House picked up his book again, which Wilson assumed meant he was all right with his presence. "Mind if I sit here? I mean—stay sitting here."

Greg shrugged. "Sure. What are you studying?" Wilson opened his textbook and began to leaf through it to find the right chapter.

"I've got a paper on radiation therapy," he replied distractedly, running his finger over a paragraph to find an excerpt. "What's your major?" Fishing for a pen in his bag, Wilson began making notes in the margins.

"Infectious diseases and nephrology. Yours is oncology?"

"Yeah. It's interesting..." Wilson wrote another few lines. "Double major—gotta be tough."

House nodded in a noncommittal way that made Wilson think that his classes weren't tough for him at all. "I'm up for a coffee break. You can come if you like," he offered spontaneously, stacking up his possessions and gathering them into his arms, but not getting up. Wilson was surprised by the statement, and didn't immediately stop writing so he could stall an answer. Coffee sounded like a good idea because he was thirsty and would, but coffee with House?

"Are you sure you want me there? You barely know me," Wilson tried to phrase it differently, more politely. "I mean, we just met today. And I make bad coffee conversation. And we both still have work to do." He laughed. Self-deprecation always worked, Wilson thought with internal shock at his own social skills. "I'm boring. You'll see."

House kicked him under the table. "I wouldn't have let you sit here if I thought you were boring. Boring people bore me." Then, more seriously: "So you're gonna play hard-to-get. Okay, I'll make a deal with you. What's your worst subject?"

"Pharmacology."

"That's because Falley is an idiot. Can't teach for his life. Thank god there's such a thing as supplemental reading," House agreed, getting a chuckle out of Wilson. "Fine—I'll tutor you in Pharmacology for the rest of the semester if you go for coffee with me. I have no one else to go with, anyway."

Wilson considered the request, figured he could use the improvement in his grade. It was just coffee—nothing he could embarrass himself over. Then he remembered that this was House they were talking about. House, whom he'd never met until fifteen minutes ago, but who still seemed like the most interesting person he'd met all year.

Coffee sounded really, really good.

"Fine. You've got yourself a deal." Wilson held out his hand and House took it. He had a firm handshake, which was nothing less than Wilson had expected from someone so confident.

"Ever been on a motorcycle, Jimmy?" House remarked offhandedly as they walked toward the parking lot. Wilson fought back the instinct to duck and instead caught the object that had been thrown at his head—a shiny black helmet. _He's not serious_, he thought to himself, wondering if it would look cowardly to back out now.


End file.
